


drown your ghosts (but do not forget them)

by procrastinatingbird



Series: The Amazons of Themyscira [3]
Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Grief/Mourning, i wrote this with a diagram of the stages of mourning open next to me and i am very very sorry, it gets better though, second chapter is fluffy tho, warning for brief suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbird/pseuds/procrastinatingbird
Summary: Menalippe has been many things in her life; prophet, poet, lieutenant, lover. General. She hates the last title more than any other she has carried.





	1. ghosts and grief

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken liberties with comic/movie canon because I can. Menalippe is a prophet in the comics but I didn't really see that in the movies? Included it here anyways. The poet part is actually inspired by WhooshFC's fanfic about Antiope and Menalippe! That particular characterization just stuck for me.
> 
> Also again if you didn't see it in the tags because I have no idea how to cleanly tag things; there is a brief description of suicidal thoughts in here, I promise it is brief but if that is something you don't like reading please be aware of this.

Menalippe has been many things in her life; prophet, poet, lieutenant, lover. General. She hates the last title more than any other she has carried.

She is almost glad that Antiope’s tiara left the island with Diana. Menalippe wonders if she would have been expected to wear it along with her new title. She thinks that wearing it would have taken more strength than she has left in her.

She still has not cleaned up their shared room, and each time she walks in, Antiope’s carefully polished armor, neatly folded tunics, and carefully folded battle plans, nearly breaks her heart. She throws a blanket over the armor, numbs herself to the clothing, and carefully files away the papers. Perhaps she should read them, make sure to continue to train the diminished army as Antiope planned to. She tells herself that she’ll read them tomorrow, always tomorrow. She cannot even pick up a single paper without her hands shaking. Menalippe can almost hear Antiope's voice as she skims the carefully penned notes. 

Menalippe goes down to the ocean more than she’d care to admit. The blood from the battle no longer stains the beach, but she is haunted by the limp bodies of her sisters with every step. The ocean has meant many things for her over the course of her life. She remembers swimming up from its depths, one among hundreds of her sisters. Her first prophecy, spoken mere moments after her birth. It was a message from the gods, spoken from her lips, but not with her own words. She remembers it like flashes of a dream. Phillipus tells her that she foretold Hippolya’s rule as Queen, that she spoke with the authority of Zeus himself. Menalippe only remembers the taste of ozone in her mouth and the sensation of more power than she could comprehend, like lightning bolts had been sewn into her skin.

The gods died, and Menalippe felt like she had lost a part of herself. She had spoken for every one of them, felt their power, their desires, and while Menalippe had not claimed to understand the gods in their entirety, she had known them. She mourned with her writings, silently and privately, using words written in the same poetic style her prophecies had once been spoken with. She would sit by the ocean, sea breeze rustling her hair, and write until she felt her hand might give out. None among the Amazons would ever understand what she had lost, and she did not know if she even understood exactly what she was mourning. So she wrote it down in tangled and confusing prose, and threw her best writings into the ocean to be seen by only herself and whatever lived in the water’s depths. 

Menalippe had never quite understood her talent for warfare. Certainly it did not mesh with her other gifts. But when Antiope called for soldiers, she answered. Menalippe had only interacted with the woman a handful of times, mostly after the rebellion. Antiope had an air of command around her that Menalippe thought could make even the gods fall in step behind her. It inspired Menalippe, and drove her to perform better than even she thought she was capable of. 

“Congratulations Lieutenant.” Antiope extended a hand to her, pulling Menalippe up from her hunched position. “That was quite the fight.”

Antiope added a wicked grin to the last part, and Menalippe felt her knees go weak. She told herself it was only because of the recent sparring match. Artemis could pack a powerful punch after all. 

Menalippe also told herself that she only went on early morning beach runs with Antiope so the two could work better together as general and lieutenant. The more they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, the better their synergy would be when working with the army. These were just the facts. 

Said facts did not stop her from kissing the general. There was the sunset, the gentle crashing of the waves, the leftover adrenaline from the run, and the general. Antiope's eyes seemed to hold the entire ocean within them. 

Now she sees only Antiope’s sightless gaze when she walks near the ocean. She wades into the water aimlessly, half searching for answers, half wondering if a strong undertow might grab her and take her away to her beloved. The feeling of the waves lapping against her waist is calming, but these dark thoughts ruin the moment. Panic seizes her heart as she realizes that she is wading further in, almost subconsciously, and she stumbles out of the water. She sits roughly on the sand, burying her head in her arms. Antiope would not have wanted Menalippe to throw herself to the waves or mourn fruitlessly on the beach. Antiope is dead. She can do nothing to change that.

Menalippe wonders if Antiope knew that she would have died in her place. She wonders if she is dying right now. It feels like she is.

There are days when commanding the army feels as easy as breathing. Antiope used to say that Menalippe was one of the best warriors the Amazons had to offer. She hadn’t been wrong, not in the slightest, but Menalippe still feels weak. She cannot stop crying at night as she sleeps in a bed far too big for just her. She still has not yet moved the blankets off the armor. The armor. It would probably dusty by now. Antiope would have never let the armor grow so dirty. Menalippe pushes such thoughts away, pretends the room was always just hers alone and that the piles of blankets and musty clothes shoved behind furniture were always there. She will clean the room tomorrow. She will read the battle plans tomorrow.

There are days when commanding the army feels as if each order tears her heart in two. Her voice breaks when she gives orders, when she hears the soldiers say; “Yes, General.” She sees the grief in their eyes as well, and it breaks her more. She can never be Antiope, never replace her, yet this is what she is meant to do.

Menalippe lets Artemis take command on these days, when her heart can take no more. The older warrior says nothing each time, simply touches Menalippe’s shoulder and looks into her eyes, saying more in her silence than Menalippe can comprehend. 

It is on these days that she takes her sword and heads down to the beach. The sand is hard-packed and smooth in some areas, where the tide touches it at its highest point. Menalippe kicks off her shoes and takes a warriors stance, then lets her sword fly through the air as though facing an invisible enemy. She thinks of a thousand ways to cut down this make-believe foe, slashing her sword as though cutting off arms, shattering bones, and gashing unhealable wounds in chests. She does this until her arms feel like lead, until her hand releases her sword from sheer exhaustion, and it is then that she lets herself drop to the sand and cry. 

It feels as though her grief could never end. But slowly, slowly she pushes her way past it. There are still days when the title “General” cuts into her heart like a knife, where she nearly runs to the beach to fight her make-believe enemies. There are also days when she makes it through whole training sessions without once comparing herself to Antiope or wondering what the former general would have done instead of her. The army trusts her, and she knows that in her core. She must learn to trust herself.

It is many weeks before Menalippe pulls the blanket off of the long hidden armor. Antiope used to meticulously clean it and put it away so that pieces could be pulled off their stands in mere seconds, if needed. Now, a thin layer of dust has settled over the once bright metal. Menalippe can only stare at the armor, feeling as though she is seeing some sort of desecrated ghost. Her entire being feels numb, and she is unsure if she can bring herself to move.

Footsteps behind her startle her, and centuries of combat training kick in, despite her apathy. She whirls around, ready to kick, punch, stab, and feel anything except this awful numbness.

Instead, Menalippe finds herself looking into the eyes of the Queen. 

“It almost feels like she will walk into this room in a few minutes and scold us for not properly cleaning it.” Hippolyta’s voice is hoarse, and her eyes are on the armor as well. Menalippe can only nod numbly. Hippolyta steps closer to the armor, reaches her hand out as though to wipe the dust from the breastplate, then hesitates and drops it back to her side. She turns back to Menalippe. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Menalippe feels tears coming again, and inwardly curses herself. It seems she cannot even keep her emotions in check in front of the queen. “Thank you,” she replies.

She feels some pride in the fact that she could say at least two words coherently before she started crying again.

The two women work together to clear the armor away. Some pieces are put into storage, having been built only to fit Antiope, who was shorter than the average Amazon. Other pieces are to be sent to the armory. Menalippe thinks Antiope would have liked the idea of her armor protecting her soldiers, almost as though she was protecting her soldiers even after death.

She pretends not to notice the Queen’s tears. 

Hippolyta hovers at the doorway when the task is done. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She bows her head. “I miss her as well.”

Hippolyta sweeps out the door as quietly as she came and Menalippe realizes, with a start, that Hippolyta had not been wearing her crown. 

Time passes, and it still hurts to think of Antiope, but Menalippe does not dwell on her pain as much. She has stopped bringing her sword to the beach on her worst days. Instead, she wields a pen and paper, writing down her turmoil until her heart and hand can take no more. Then, carefully, carefully, she folds the paper into a neat square and throws it into the sea. 

Ease with her title comes with time as well. She corrects a soldier’s form, hears the standard “Yes, General.” She moves on to the next training group without a second thought. It is not until later, stripping off her armor for the day, that Menalippe realizes how many times that simple phrase had been said to her. She hadn’t blinked once.

The next time she writes, it is to Antiope herself. Menalippe asks whether she is proud, whether she thinks Menalippe is living up to her standards as a general. Menalippe tells Antiope that she loves her, and will never forget. She tells Antiope that she is learning to live again. She folds up the paper as small as she can make it, and throws it as far as she can into the ocean. She lets go.

Menalippe is walking among soldiers on the training grounds and suddenly she feels a shadow pass over her, feels her skin go cold and her knees buckle. She can hear the Amazons yelling in concern, when her vision goes black.

She comes to with Phillipus holding her. “What… Happened?” 

Her voice is hoarse and she feels groggy. Phillipus is wearing an expression somewhere between shock, awe, and fear, but before she can answer, it all comes rushing back to Menalippe.

The taste of cold metal. A cold chill creeping down her spine. Shadows dancing in front of her unseeing eyes. _Hades._

Menalippe’s eyes go wide at the realization. “But the gods are dead!”

“Well something spoke through you.” Phillipus’ voice is shaky. “I believe you said;

_Winds of change blow down old temples,_  
_To be built anew by bloodied hands,_  
_Rise by the awakened storm,_  
_And let the dead speak._ "

Menalippe is silent for a long time. The gods are dead. She has not been their voice in millennia. Yet she has spoken for them. “Get the Queen.”

There used to be formalities for spoken prophecy, rituals to make sure no information was lost. They have been long forgotten, rendered obsolete with the death of the gods. The only rituals followed now, are the hastily scribbled recordings of the prophecy and the gathering of the council. The atmosphere is tense, uncertain. The gods are dead. So why do they still speak?

Hippolyta wields an air of command about her like a weapon, forcing order. “Menalippe. You are certain that it was Hades who spoke through you?”

Menalippe considers her words carefully. “Each god felt different when they spoke through me. I’d recognize their signatures anywhere. It was Hades that spoke through me, or something that was able to emulate his power perfectly.”

The Gods have never died before. Menalippe supposes it is possible that mortals would never be able to comprehend the life cycles of immortal beings. There is no instruction manual for what to do when a pantheon collapses. 

Hippolyta is silent for a long time, tension rolling off of her in waves. “The only god we know to be alive is Ares. Assuming Diana did not kill him. Is it possible that he could emulate Hades’ signature? We know he absorbed many of the other gods’ powers after their death and was able to wield them.”

Menalippe considers this carefully. Ares had only spoken through her once in all her years as a prophet. His signature was the iron taste of blood and rage coursing through her veins for hours after she had spoken for him. She is sure she felt the voice of Hades. However, Hades is dead, and Ares may live. “It is possible.”

Hippolyta pales, and Menalippe suddenly realizes what this would mean. It would mean Diana had failed in her mission, and the princess was likely dead. To her credit, Hippolyta retains her composure long enough to give orders to the gathered Amazons. “Double the patrols throughout the day. Prepare the island for war. If Ares still lives, he may yet find us.”

Menalippe dutifully follows the queen’s commands. Patrols around the island are doubled, and she is sure to put herself into the lineup. Antiope never tried to elevate herself from the common soldier, so Menalippe will do no different. She fights alongside her sisters, not just her soldiers.

The patrols are uneventful, but no Amazon dares to let their guard down. Ares is their sworn enemy, and only a god can kill a god. If he still lives, Menalippe is unsure of how the Amazons can guarantee his death. They have been granted immortality, but they are mortals still. They cannot kill a god.

It is with these unsettling thoughts that Menalippe finds herself marching along the beach, guarding Themyscira’s shores. Penthesilea and Egeria follow closely behind her. Menalippe knows the island and its inhabitants like she knows the back of her own hand. When she sees the unfamiliar form hunched on the side on the beach, she freezes and drops into a fighting stance.

“Egeria.” Her voice is soft, but firm. “Get back to the village and tell them we have an intruder on the island.”

The warrior nods and takes off in sprint. Penthesilea raises her weapon and looks to Menalippe for further orders.

“Approach cautiously, but weapons at the ready. Do not engage the unknown until I give the command.” The figure seems to be coughing up seawater and does not look hostile, but Menalippe knows better than to underestimate an opponent.

The figure turns and for the first time Menalippe sees their face. Sees _her_ face.

Her heart shatters.

It’s a trick. It has to be.

She died on this very beach. Menalippe remembers watching as the woman she loved slipped away from the waking world. 

She walks shakily towards the figure, remembering to hold on to her sword. This could be a trick. It’s probably a trick. A cruel, cruel, trick.

The figure blinks once as Menalippe approaches, as though surprised. The figure’s eyes drop to Menalippe’s sword, then flicker back up to her face with a wry smile. “As trusting as always, Mena. I taught you well, then.”

The voice is raspy, but oh so familiar. Menalippe’s sword slips from her limp hands. There was only one person who called her Mena. 

She has not cried for Antiope in so long, but now there are tears running down her face. Menalippe runs to her, throws herself on the sand next to her and her arms around Antiope’s shoulders. Antiope nearly falls over at the force of the embrace and Menalippe hurriedly steadies the other woman. In the corner of her eye, she can see what appears to be half the Amazonian army approaching them.

“Antiope!” Hippolyta nearly vaults off her horse, sprints to them, then halts shortly before reaching them. She turns to Menalippe, hope and wariness apparent in her eyes. “Is this real?”

Menalippe can only nod, and Hippolyta runs to her sister. The Amazonian army stands on ceremony behind them, but Menalippe can feel the elation running through them. A lost sister has been returned home.

Much later, she sits in Epoine’s infirmary as Antiope rests on a nearby cot. Menalippe holds her hand gently, childishly afraid that if she lets go, Antiope will vanish once more. She knows that, in the council room, Hippolyta and the senators are discussing what this miracle means. Between her prophecy and Antiope’s rebirth, it is certainly not a typical year for Themyscira. Something is coming.

But for now, Antiope is gazing up at her like she has hung the stars in the sky. Menalippe squeezes the warrior’s hand tighter. For now, she has everything she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is starting up woot woot! 
> 
> Writing prophecies isn't really my thing but I tried to keep the style as close to actual Greek prophecies as I could, don't know how much I succeeded.
> 
> Thanks once more to Erin for editing!
> 
> I know these are suppose to be oneshots but I'm actually gonna include a second chapter to this one with some fluff between Antiope and Menalippe. I feel like they deserve it after all they've been through. After that, Artemis is the next Amazon with a story to tell!


	2. fluff 'n stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff to counter the angst fest that has been my stories so far. Menalippe and Antiope get some time to heal.

“Mena, I am not about to disappear. You can rest, I promise.” Antiope looks vaguely amused as Menalippe tries to pretend she has not nearly fallen out of her chair from exhaustion for the fifth time that night. The lieutenant had been chased out of the infirmary when Epione had done her last minute checks before retiring to bed. Direct orders from the healer to go home and rest still hadn’t been enough to keep Menalippe away. Menalippe had promptly snuck right back in, climbing through the open window. She had sworn to keep watch over Antiope all night. However, Menalippe hadn’t accounted for how much a lack of sleep combined with a rather exciting day could wear a person out.

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who just pulled themselves out of the ocean.” Menalippe’s words are starting to slur and her mind is foggy. She should sleep, but she’s half afraid she’ll wake to find out this is nothing more than a dream. She hasn’t let go of Antiope’s hand since she climbed in through the window. Or did she fall in through the window? Maybe it was a graceful fall. 

“Mmmm.” Antiope purses her lips, regarding Menalippe, who feels as though she is on the verge of nodding off and falling out of her chair again. Antiope sighs, and holds out her arms. “Stubborn. Come here, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Menalippe practically falls from exhaustion into Antiope’s waiting arms. Antiope presses a kiss to the top of her head and wraps her arms around Menalippe’s waist. The soft pressure of Antiope’s arms grounds Menalippe, calming her. Antiope is back. She's really back.

The tiny infirmary cot barely holds the two of them. Their legs are tangled together, and barely any space exists between the two of them. By all accounts, it should have been uncomfortable, but Menalippe has not felt so at peace in a long, long time. She curls closer to Antiope and easily drifts off.

Hours later, Menalippe is rudely awoken to bright sunshine streaming in through an open window. Blinking blearily, she pushes the blanket aside, careful not to disturb Antiope, and props herself up on her elbow to attempt to find her bearings. Hadn’t the window been closed last night? She’s pretty sure she remembered to close it after she came in.

“Ahem.”

Menalippe lets out a very un-lieutenant like shriek as the figure standing at the end of the bed becomes immediately clear to her. She nearly tumbles out of the bed in shock, hurriedly standing at attention. “Epione!”

The healer does not look at all pleased. “I thought I told you to go home and rest.” 

“I… Uh…” Menalippe likes to think she is more coherent than this on a regular basis, but in her own defense, it seems very early and she did just fall out of bed. 

“What’s happening?” Antiope seems to have awoken as well. Menalippe is honestly surprised the general didn’t leap out of bed when she had shrieked. She wonders if the general is going soft.

Epione is swiftly at Antiope’s side, pushing her back down on the cot, ignoring the general’s sounds of protest. “You stay here. You,” she turns to Menalippe, staring her down with a hawk-like gaze. “You can wait outside the infirmary.” 

Menalippe is suddenly acutely aware of her bedhead and general disheveled state. She doesn’t want to leave Antiope, but standing outside in the street, where the market is surely filling up with Amazons at this time of day, does not exactly appeal to her. 

Epione gives an exaggerated sigh, and Menalippe becomes aware of the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Epione may run a tight ship in the infirmary, but she is no doubt just as elated for Antiope’s return as the rest of the island. 

“You lovebirds. Can never stand to be apart.” Epione scoffs, throwing a blanket in Menalippe’s direction. “I hope you can at least recall that the bathhouse is connected to the infirmary. Down the tunnels? Are you at least awake enough to remember that?” 

Menalippe turns to go, but hesitates. There is still that lingering fear that if she takes her gaze off Antiope for even a second, the other woman would disappear. Epione’s gaze softens. “I’ll watch over her. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Mena,” Antiope calls out softly from the cot. “I doubt Epione will let me until she’s finished with her exam.” There is a wry smile at the end of this last statement.

Menalippe nods and exits the room quickly before she can convince herself otherwise. 

____________________________________________________________

The time spent alone in the baths felt like an eternity to Menalippe. She dries herself quickly, preparing to hurry back up to the infirmary. 

“Not going to spend any time relaxing?” Antiope rounds the corner to the room just as Menalippe throws on a tunic. Antiope seems to infer her next question before it even leaves her lips. “Epione has given me a clean bill of health. She only kept me overnight as a precautionary measure. Whatever returned me to life did so without leaving a scratch on me.”

Menalippe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “That’s fortunate. Do you remember anything about how you came to be on-?”

“Mena.” Antiope walks closer to her, presses a finger to Menalippe’s lips. “Do not let yourself worry about that now. We both know that some sort of strange magic is permeating the island. There is peace now, but it may not last for long. So let us enjoy these moments of quiet while we can.”

“I…” Menalippe sighs. “Okay.” She lets herself lean into Antiope, the two sharing a quiet embrace. Eventually, it is Antiope who breaks it, slipping out of Menalippe’s arms and kissing her on the cheek. 

“Tell me Mena, how long has it been since you have gone to the forest grove? The one with the blackberry bushes.”

Menalippe smiles. That particular grove held many fond memories between the two of them. “Too long, I think.”

____________________________________________________________

They ride up on two of the older warhorses. The retired horses were often used for leisure among the Amazons, and it would be good for their two respective steeds to get some exercise. They could’ve taken their specific war-mounts, but neither had wanted to be reminded of battle. The grove was a peaceful, meditative place, among other things. War and battle had no place there.

They dismount a short distance away and leave the horses to graze, walking the remainder of the way. Menalippe can hear birds singing in the trees, and watches a butterfly flit lazily among wildflowers. A light breeze blows across the forest, and combined with the gentle sunbeams filtering through the leaves, the grove seems nearly idyllic. 

The grove has always been their own. Menalippe was never sure if any of the other Amazons knew it existed, though on such a small island it was likely that at least a handful did. Either way, she and Antiope had always seemed to be the only ones who made regular use of it. After a hard week’s training, the two would go up to be alone together. They would eat the blackberries off the bushes, watch the clouds go by, and let their responsibilities slip away. In the grove, time seemed to slow, and nothing existed except the two of them. It was here that Menalippe often wished she could freeze the world in that moment and nothing else would ever exist except for her, Antiope, and the perfect peacefulness of the surrounding forest.

Menalippe had not been up to the grove since Antiope’s death.

But now, Antiope is alive and deftly gathering berries, some of which are nearly rotting on the stem. The berry juice is already starting to stain her fingers and, noticing Menalippe’s gaze, Antiope gives her a mischievous look and flicks an overly ripe berry right onto Menalippe’s face. 

“You!” Menalippe childishly sticks her tongue out, wiping the juice from her face, and swiftly grabbing her own berry from the bush and attempting to throw it back at her attacker. It misses spectacularly, flying at least a foot away from Antiope’s shoulder, who laughs and flicks another berry at Menalippe. 

The second offending berry flies right between her eyes, and Menalippe’s eyes narrow. Antiope should really pick her battles more carefully.

____________________________________________________________

“...did you really have to mash an entire handful of berries into my face?”

Menalippe shrugs, “You shoved a handful down my tunic first.” 

Antiope looks like she got into a fight with a blackberry bush, and lost. Which, in a way, is exactly what happened. Menalippe is honestly shocked that they still have enough berries to share between them. The grove is painted red with berry juice, and the two of them are in a similar condition. Antiope practically has rivulets of berry juice running down her neck.

Menalippe is suddenly unsettled. The red of the berries is far too close to blood.

Antiope notices her discomfort and quickly wipes away the offending juice stains. Menalippe shifts awkwardly, feeling as though she has ruined the moment.

“We should probably rinse off all this if we want to return to the village inconspicuously,” Antiope says lightly. “Want to head to the stream?”

Menalippe nods mutely, standing up and brushing off her hands of forest debris. She turns, and Antiope catches her hand before she can walk away.

“Mena.” Antiope’s eyes are filled with an emotion Menalippe can only guess at. Understanding? Love? Guilt? Perhaps it was all of them. Antiope takes Menalippe’s face in her hands and presses their foreheads together. “I am here,” she whispers softly, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

Menalippe throws her arms around Antiope, burying her face in the general’s shoulder. She focuses on Antiope’s breathing, a steady rhythm that she uses to calm herself. When they finally pull apart, the berry juice covering their skin keeps them stuck together for a few more seconds. Despite the mood, Menalippe lets out a breathy laugh. 

Antiope is smiling softly as well. “We should probably get ourselves cleaned up.”

Menalippe simply hums in agreement, taking Antiope’s hand and leading the two of them to the creek. She does not miss the way Antiope gently squeezes her hand in return, almost in reassurance.

The creek water is cool, and there are several ledges wide enough to sit on, where one could be submerged up to waist height into the creek. Antiope used to joke that this was proof enough that Zeus created Themyscira specifically for the Amazons. Menalippe used to point out in return that the water was waist height for everyone except Antiope, where it came more to about chest level. She usually got splashed in the face for that.

Antiope sinks down onto one of the ledges with a content sigh, slouching so her upper body nearly disappears under the running water. “Proof that this island was created specifically for the Amazons.”

Menalippe tries to suppress a laugh and fails, a muffled snort coming out instead. 

Antiope narrows her eyes playfully. “Don’t even get started.”

Menalippe raises her hands in a gesture of peace, and steps into the water. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Mhm,” Antiope says, raising her eyebrows. “I doubt it.” She seems to hesitate before speaking again. “Mena, I don’t mean to pry, but how are you really taking this? I know…” She pauses, considering her words carefully, “It couldn’t have been easy.”

Menalippe swirls her hand in the water, avoiding Antiope’s eyes. “I… No. It wasn’t easy.” 

“I saw you, you know. On the beach. When I was…” Antiope hesitates, then seems to decide to gloss over the unspeakable. Dead. “I don’t remember much, but I remember watching over Diana, Hippolyta and you.” 

Menalippe snorts. “You’ll have to be a lot more specific about what time I was on the beach. I went there a lot. I guess it was the only place where I felt close to you. It was the last place that I had been with you. The battle… I don’t remember much of it. Epione said I had suffered a serious head injury after being knocked from my horse.”

In reality, she remembers the day all too well. The cavalry charge, the concussive blow that threw her from her horse, and the men hiding behind the rocks, shooting at her. She had never feared for her life, drowning out any misgivings with war-cries and bravado. She remembers Antiope charging in to help her, remembers throwing her up into the air with her shield and watching Antiope fly. She had thought Antiope had looked like a sort of avenging angel, beautiful and deadly at the same time. She remembers the final bullet, as well.

Menalippe feels lost in these memories. Then, she notices a soft pressure on her shoulder. She looks up to see Antiope gently resting her hand there.

“Is it okay if I hold you?” Antiope’s voice retains that same gentleness from before. 

Menalippe nods and leans into Antiope’s embrace. The general seems to be considering for a long time before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry I left you,” she finally says. “I can’t swear that it will never happen again, but I pray it never will. I wish you never had to know that sort of pain, but I am so, so proud of you for being strong enough to fight it.” 

Menalippe knows that Antiope does not expect a response, but she gives one anyway. “I have been planning to speak with Dianthe. I should have gone to receive her counsel much sooner. I know many of the warriors spoke highly of her counsel after the rebellion.”

Antiope hugs her closer. “That’s a good plan.”

Neither makes any move to break off the embrace. The creek water flows softly over smooth rocks, and in the distance, the birds finish their song and start anew. 

Many hours later, they lie entangled together on a bed that Menalippe no longer thinks is too large. Antiope has always been the first to fall asleep, and tonight is no different. Their foreheads are pressed closely together again, and Menalippe lets her eyes wander over Antiope’s face. There are so many small details that she had forgotten over time. The tiniest dotting of freckles underneath her eyes, so small that hardly anyone would notice unless they knew what they were looking for. A scar on the curve of her jaw, one that might have been passed off for a noble battle wound, but that Menalippe knew was actually the result of slipping on a morning run. The marks of age that are etched into her face, making her look hard and intimidating on a battlefield, but contributing to the image of a peaceful sleeper when in rest. Menalippe presses a kiss onto Antiope’s cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers softly.

“I love you too,” comes a sleepy mumble. “But I think I’d love you more if you managed to get some sleep.”

Menalippe laughs and curls herself closer to Antiope. The crashing of the ocean waves can be heard faintly in the distance, and Antiope’s breathing seems to be in sync with each wave. It is to this metronome that Menalippe lets herself drift away, the smell of Antiope’s hair and the gentle touch of her skin lulling her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Erin for editing!
> 
> Also, I was so sure Dianthe was a real Amazon that I threw her in the story as the resident island therapist without a second thought. After a quick google search because I was unsure if I was spelling her name right, it turns out that there is no Amazon named Dianthe? Apparently I had stolen an Amazon mentioned only in a fic I'd read before by miss_belivet. So kudos to them for making an Amazon so believable that I assumed it was a canonical movie Amazon. (side note I really hope its okay I mentioned her in here)
> 
> Also thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos or commented, those comments really make my day! I haven't been responding because I'm really shy and I never know what to say, but they're really nice and they motivate me so much. 
> 
> Artemis should be coming up soon! I'm actually gonna be trying to organize a few of the upcoming "oneshots" into chaptered stories, while still following my original oneshot-ish style (do they even count as oneshots anymore?), since it occurred to me that having 15+ separate stories with a connecting plotline floating around might be a tad confusing.
> 
> Also final note, how would you all feel about a collection of the "deleted scenes" from these fics? There's a lot of small stories I use to build the characters that don't make it into the final story that are just lying around right now.


End file.
